itâs for Spencer, make it decaf. She certainly doesnât need the caffeine!â David said.
Spencer let that pass. When David sat down behind his desk again, he felt a wave of guilt and sorrow sweep over him. She was so pale, and so damned thin. All her life, she had dressed beautifully but simply, and that hadnât changed. She was wearing a sleeveless dress that stopped just above the knee. But the cut was perfect, and David assumed it was some kind of designer original, although Spencer also made a point of buying things just because she liked them, not because there was a name attached to them. Spencer had never acted as if she came from money, but it was always there in the background, just the same. He had to admit, though, he wasnât sure just who had buckled to the family pressure, him or her.
Whatever, the dress, simple, perfect, looked wonderful on her. One minute she seemed like a tempest, and now she seemed all but ethereal. She needed more meat on her bones, more color in her face. Her eyes were haunted. Hell, his probably looked that way, too. It had been rough, learning to live with Danny gone.
And hunting for his killer.
âItâs been a year, David,â she said almost tonelessly.
âSpencer, have you been to the policeââ
âOf course. Lots of times. Theyâre always as nice as they can beâexcept, of course, when they start questioning me again.â
âThey have to do that, Spencer.â
âHow could I have killed him?â she asked bleakly.
He hesitated. âThe way they see it, anything is possible. You might have run out, shot him, run home, then waited for someone to come and give you the news.â
âBut you knowââ
âIâm telling you what the D.A.âs office could come up with in terms of motive. You were his wife. You inherited a sizable fortune on his death.â
âBut you found meââ
âStark naked. What a great way to shed bloody clothing.â
She was standing again, staring at him as if he were a cold-blooded killer. âYou bastard! What about you? He died in your arms!â
âSpencer, sit down, or Iâll make you sit down in about two seconds!â
She didnât sit. He swore, rising. She sat, teeth grating, staring at him. âSpencer, damn you, they questioned me, too, over and over. Guys I worked with for years. They had to explore all the possibilities.â
Tears were hovering in her eyes. She was trying very hard not to shed them. âI loved Danny.â
âI know that, Spencer.â He clenched his teeth, feeling as if heâd been punched in the heart. Heâd loved Danny, too. Just about everyone who ever met Danny Huntington cared about him. Except, of course, the killer. Or killers?
âSpencer, remember the case just a few years ago? Right on Bayshore Drive. Wife calls in, her husbandâs been shot. Says some men broke in and killed him. Turned out she hired the men who shot them, let them in and out, waited long enough for them to disappear, then called emergency. Remember, Spencer?â
âYes, I remember,â she said impatiently. âShe was also much younger than he was and wanted his money. The two cases are nothing at all alike.â
âSpencer, the police canât help it. Most murders are committed by people close to the victims. Wives rank right on top.â
âDamn you, David, I didnât come here to listen to you explain why the cops questioned me. Danny has been dead for over a year. A cop, David, a cop murderedâand no suspect in sight! And you sit there justifying why they questioned me! I want to know what else theyâve got! And all anyone will ever tell me is that, oh, weâve a few leads, weâre following this one or that one! They humor me. They pat me on the back, but nothing happens!â
âSpencer, theyâre trying. It takes timeââ
âI want to know
Yvette Hines, Monique Lamont